


A Sweetness Unlike Any Other

by radishleaf



Series: The Fool, Reversed - Ezra Oneshots [1]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: (kinda), Affection, Alcohol, Drunken Flirting, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 16:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19380178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radishleaf/pseuds/radishleaf
Summary: The relationship between Locke and Asra was fraught with vagueness, confusion. Yet, one evening after downing half a bottle, a moment sweeter than wine brings the two closer together.





	A Sweetness Unlike Any Other

**Author's Note:**

> hi, i really like the arcana. i also really like asra. 
> 
> thus, here is a self-indulgent piece featuring my apprentice, locke, and everyone's favorite magician. this takes place before canon, when asra was said to have known the apprentice before the events of the plague, so this might be spoiler-y??? idk, but no spoilers about asra's route are mentioned.
> 
> both locke and asra come off as a little stiff, imho, since this is my first time writing for both of them, but i tried! i just wanted to write kissing, ok. 
> 
> as always, kindly disregard any grammatical errors, punctuation mistakes, and the like. i tried to be thorough. enjooooy.

The blistering sun of high afternoon had finally lapsed into early evening; the stark orange rays of the setting sun piercing through the curtained window that offered a purveyor’s view of Vesuvia beyond. What was once a dead street bloomed with life as the countess’s guard and a chariot carrying the sovereign herself passed through. Locke studied the parade with mild interest until the many footfalls drifted off into the silence. With his only form of entertainment gone, he swirled the contents of his wine glass in hand before taking a long swig. Inebriation born of lonesomeness and boredom was unbecoming of him, but for the better part of the day, Locke had not a thing to do. With Asra gone, leaving him only in the company of their familiars and the stove salamander, what _could_ he do?

Despite the dullness, the magic shop was peaceful, warm; the delightful scent of myrrh and spices wafting up with the famishing beckon of stew bubbling in the cauldron in the hearth. Not a sound pierced the veil save the crackle of the stove salamander steadfastly at work. Locke’s tired gaze brought on from a bellyful of wine slid from the window to the small creature. He considered it for but a moment, mentally rooting for its effervescent energy, before he stretched a hand to the serpent coiled comfortably about the wine bottle beside him.

A gentle stroke under Faust’s chin had the snake melting into Locke’s touch. She unknotted herself from about the bottle and worked her way up the man’s arm, coming to a rest about his neck like a scaly scarf. A rare, pleased smile quirked on Locke’s lips as his lingering strokes to the top of her head was met with a sharp glare from Dawn, the magician’s own familiar. The salt-colored swallow gave an undignified chirrup before puffing up and turning away; her discontent with the unpaid attention evident in droves. Locke would’ve chanced a chuckle at her stubbornness had he not known better; after all, it would’ve been a great insult to do so. Dawn wouldn’t speak to him for days.

If Dawn hadn’t a word to say, Faust certainly did. Her attention was piqued when the magic shop’s doorknob gave a twist. Her head bobbed excitedly before she hastily slithered off of Locke and made for the door. Locke watched her, his head spinning from the sharp jerk, as a familiar head of white appeared.

 _Asra!_ Faust all but cheered at her master’s return.

Locke looked on, transfixed, as a warm, gentle smile curved on Asra’s lips. He aimlessly wondered how something so difficult of him came to the other magician so naturally as he bent low and offered his hand to his dear friend. Faust slithered up the proffered limb with restless abandon. With her happily returned to where she preferred—draped under Asra’s many colorful layers—the magician turned his attention to Locke. The smile upon his face widened when Locke shot him a quizzical glance.

“Is something wrong?” he asked Locke.

Locke blinked slowly at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re staring.”

Locke’s lips parted to refute the claim, but he instead settled back and remained quiet. Asra, knowing not to prod the reticent other just yet, closed the distance to him and settled into the adjacent chair. He studied Locke for a moment before reaching over to his half-filled wine glass and giving it a light tap.

“And you’re drinking,” he said.

Locke pursed his lips. “Should I not drink?”

“No, no. It’s just, I never thought you the type, Locke. To drink, I mean.”

“It was an impromptu thing. It offered some comfort.”

“Comfort?” The corner of Asra’s lip quirked in a knowing smile. “Were you lonely without me, Locke?”

Locke frowned at him. “I wasn’t lonely,” he said. “I simply needed to keep myself occupied until you returned.”

“So, you turned to drinking?”

“It’s the greatest pastime of Vesuvia, Asra. You know that. You can’t think it strange to drink.”

“No, it isn’t strange, but again”—Asra chuckled—“I simply never thought you the type.”

He was being stubborn. He _knew_ he was being stubborn, but Locke couldn’t help but shoot a glare Asra’s way. The conversational lilt to his tone was irksome; the subtlety of his aforementioned insinuation like an accusing finger pointed his way. Locke wasn’t sure of what to make of his relationship with Asra. They weren’t acquaintances, but not quite friends either. It was Locke who forced a distance, shooing Asra away before he could chance getting closer, but the magician seemed delighted in toeing that line.

 _As if he likes teasing me_ , Locke internally sighed.

“There’s a great number of things you don’t know about me,” Locke said.

“Oh?” Asra’s brows quirked up. “And what are those?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m saying I want to know more about you, Locke. If you’re willing to tell me.”

Locke’s voice caught in his throat. He couldn’t comprehend how the magician could be so direct—so _forward_ —with his interest. It swelled something unfathomable in Locke’s chest. He was so taken by the feeling that he averted his eyes to Dawn, who found it fitting to flit off to another nook of the shop during the duo’s exchange. Suddenly, Locke felt betrayed—how dare she abandon him to his own devices! Especially when in the presence of _Asra!_

Throughout Locke’s mental floundering before the man, Asra’s gaze not once wavered from him. He rested his chin comfortably in the cup of his palm, patiently awaiting Locke’s reply. Yet, he had none; all thoughts having dissolved into the nothingness of his mind. The magician, having sensed this, couldn’t have looked more amused. Locke stewed in his own annoyance. He was still unsure of what to think of him.

“I’m sorry if I came on to strong,” Asra said, “but I’m genuinely curious about you, Locke.”

Locke cleared his throat. “W-what do you want to know?”

“Everything.” When Locke’s mouth dropped in shock and awe, Asra couldn’t help a hearty laugh. “If that’s not too much to ask, of course.”

“It would take quite some time to tell you _everything_ , Asra.”

“We have time now.”

“That… we do… Then what _specifically_ do you want to know?”

Asra hummed in thought, chin clutched between forefinger and thumb as if he stressed his mental limits on what he wanted to know. When he appeared to settle on something, he asked with the largest smile, “Did you miss me when I was gone?”

Locke nearly fell from his chair. Of _all_ things to ask, that’s what he wanted to know? With liquid courage running through his veins, Locke was willing to spill anything to the magician at that moment, but Asra seemed disinterested in anything personal. The glint to his eye signified all Locke needed to know: Asra didn’t care either—his only interest was the here and now.

A dust of scarlet spread across Locke’s already flushed face as he hesitantly admitted, “M-maybe…”

“Mm, in the language of Locke, that’s a yes.”

“I-I never said—”

“Ah, definitely a yes.”

The surge of shame Locke felt launched him to his feet. His chair screeched sharply from the sudden movement, as if irritably voicing the scream he wanted to give. Instead, Locke glared down at Asra. He prepared to march away, but Asra suddenly caught his wrist in passing, stilling him. Locke’s eyes wavered when he saw Asra’s face crinkle in concern.

“I’m sorry if I said something insulting,” Asra said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Locke gaped like a fish out of water. “Ah, n-no, I-I—” He flushed as any anger he felt toward the magician dissipated. “You d-didn’t anger me.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

“No reason…”

“Are you sure?” Asra rose to stand before him. “I did say something to offend you, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Y-you didn’t—”

“I did.” Asra’s hand slipped from Locke’s wrist as he forced a smile. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to be honest with me.”

“Asra—"

“I’ll take my leave, then. We can talk another time.”

As Asra made his way to the door, panic flooded Locke’s chest. His mind swam as he stumbled for the magician; barely catching his hand before it touched the doorknob. Asra blinked and looked back to Locke, but a clumsy tug away from the door had any words he had stymieing on his tongue. His hand throbbed as Locke’s grip tightened on it.

“Don’t you dare leave,” he spat.

Asra looked at him, bewildered. “Locke, what’s gotten into you?”

His question fell on deaf ears. Locke took a step forward and pressed himself into the hollow between Asra’s neck and shoulder. “D-don’t abandon me again, either.”

For a man who always kept his distance, it shocked even Locke to do something so uncharacteristic. Shame welled up within him again when he felt Asra’s body beneath him stiffen; bristling when the magician shifted. Asra calmed him by smoothening fingers into the hairs along his nape.

“You did miss me, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Y-yes,” Locke tentatively replied.

“Mm. I think that’s the first time you’ve ever been honest with me.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It absolutely is.”

“S-shut up.”

Asra chuckled, warm and resplendent. It echoed to Locke’s core. “It makes me happy to hear that.”

Something in Locke wanted to think Asra a liar, to inquire further as to why anything he said would make him happy, but he dashed the desire aside. Instead, he pried himself away from the magician and looked down at him. It was only a beat later he realized he was so, so close to him. Asra’s eyes shined like uncut amethysts under the sunlight cast from the setting sun, driving Locke’s heart into a frenetic throb.

“Really?” he asked.

“Mhm.”

“Then, I’m glad. I’m very glad.”

“You know, there’s something else that would make me happy.” Asra reached his free hand up and thumbed Locke’s bottom lip. It trembled from the touch. “If you’d be willing.”

Locke swallowed thickly. “I would like to,” he said.

The kiss was stiff, clumsy. Locke hadn’t the foresight to reply in kind when Asra slid lips to his; he could only revel in the burst of mirth that spread through his chest from the pliant softness. When the magician pulled back to take in the moment, Locke’s lips unconsciously chased his. Asra chuckled and leaned in again. This time, he cupped hands on Locke’s face and kissed him deeper; pressing further, further still, until Locke’s mind blanked to concentrate wholly on the sweetness unlike wine of Asra’s lips and the thundering of his own heart.

When Asra pulled away, Locke’s head swam from a drunkenness brought on from alcohol and affection. He slumped forward onto the magician as if that one kiss sapped all energy out of him. Asra laughed brightly as he held him upright in support.

“You, you should rest,” he said. “Shall I help you to bed?”

Locke’s face felt heady, warm. “Please,” he said, almost pleaded.

Steadily, Asra guided Locke into the depths of the magic shop. His quarters were immaculate, pristine; not an item appeared out of place as Asra entered Locke’s room. He’d only a moment to take in his surroundings, as if savoring the moment and memory, before he located Locke’s bed and lowered him onto it. Locke unceremoniously laid himself out, limbs akimbo, as he gave a satisfied sigh to finally rest. Asra smiled and turned to leave, but a huff from Locke had him stopping yet again.

“I thought I told you not to leave,” he said.

“Ah, but—”

Locke slipped his glasses off and placed them onto the bedside table. Shifting aside, he indicated the spot next to him. “Stay,” he commanded. “Sleep.”

Despite his hesitance, Asra lowered himself to the bed. Faust, squished into the pillow as Asra laid down his head, wiggled her way out and plopped off the bed. The magician didn’t watch her leave, as if glancing away from Locke’s face for but a moment would have it disappear altogether. Locke stirred only once to tuck his own pillow under his chin before tiredness overtook him. Asra listened to his rhythmic breathing as it slowly lulled him to sleep. Before long, both of their consciousness slipped away like a shadow and dissolved into a dream.

Morning brought with it pain. As Locke slowly came to, he audibly grunted from the detestable sunlight leaking through the curtained window. Every fiber of his being pushed him to stand and push together that inch allowing intrusion, but he hadn’t the strength to do so as a horrible throb burned its way across his temple. Beyond the obvious evidence that he’d gotten himself drunk the night before, he could recall nothing save brief flashes of mundane happenings. Just as he was about to mentally rebuke himself for his foolishness, Locke turned, and started when his eyes connected with Asra’s.

The light of early dawn bathed him in warmth; gilding his hair and features in gold. The sight took Locke’s breath away, though he hadn’t the faintest idea why—especially with how his heart wavered, provoking a blush to his face. The magician smiled pleasantly at him, mirth and affection brimming in his eyes.

“Good morning,” he said.

“G-good morning,” Locke stuttered back. “W-what, ah, what are you doing here?”

“Hm?”

“I mean, w-what are you doing… in my bed?”

Asra blinked at him. “You… don’t remember?”

“No…”

Asra’s face look pained for a brief flash before he feigned normalcy. “You drank quite a bit of wine yesterday. I carried you to bed when it appeared you were close to passing out,” he said. “Then I stayed to keep an eye on you. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

“No, no, it’s fine. T-thank you for worrying.”

Asra smiled. “Of course,” he replied. “I always worry about you.”

Locke’s lips parted to inquire further, but Asra’s movement off the bed cut him off. The magician grunted when he gave a stretch before he looked to Locke again. “You didn’t eat much yesterday, right? How about breakfast?” he offered. “There’s some leftover bread from the baker in the kitchen. We can eat it with the stew. Do you want some?”

“Yes…” Locke lowered his head back to the pillow. “I’ll be out in a few.”

Asra dipped his chin to him. “All right. See you in a bit.”

Locke pursed his lips as he watched him leave. His thoughts cycled around in his head now that he was left to his lonesome, but there was only one that bothered him during the whole exchange: _That look… Why did he look at me like that?_


End file.
